Chương 38: The Forager's Worth

Caleb stepped out of the archive's cramped, dusty air into the orderly space of the main storeroom. The clean scent of the sterile room was a pleasant change from the stale odor of aged parchment that had filled his nose. He took a moment to stretch, rolling the ache from his shoulders. The hours of intense study left his muscles stiff, while his mind buzzed with the anticipation of finally getting answers.

Selara was at a large wooden desk in the center of the room, a piece of furniture he didn't remember seeing before. Her silver-blond hair was tied back in an efficient bun, and she was writing in a thick ledger. A pen scratched methodically across the page as she cross-referenced it with another document. She finished the line, closed the book, and only then looked up.

"Done already, Thalorin? You cannot have finished a single book already." Ha! Score one for the Earth-dad, Caleb thought amusedly. Now, how should I go about asking this question…

"Actually, I managed to finish a couple of books—" Selara arched one eyebrow at that, "—and encountered some terms in the text that confused me. There was something about...

'Soul-Bound Legacies?' And I thought I read something similar, maybe a 'Soul Impartment,' but I'm not sure if they're the same thing." Selara tilted her head, forehead crinkling.

"Soul-bound Legacy, yes. That is standard terminology for hereditary bloodlines that defy extraction or transfer. But Soul Impartment?" She shook her head slowly.

"I've never heard that phrase before. Where did you see it?" He stiffened. Crumb, I've made a mistake! She doesn't know! Does anybody know?! The thought of being a complete anomaly in this world sent his thoughts into a spiral. He backpedaled with a forced laugh.

"I... I must have misread something! One of the older texts had some foreign language sections I was skimming through... the script was a bit difficult to make out…"

"Ah. Yes. You probably encountered Anima Legatum, the old Mythren'dir term for Soul-Bound Legacy. The calligraphy can be tricky if you are not familiar with it." Anima Legatum! Caleb seized the lifeline gratefully.

"Yes, that's the one!" Caleb exhaled as Selara seemed to accept the explanation without suspicion, continuing on." Anima Legatum, or Soul-Bound Legacy, refers to a bloodline that is permanently bound to a family line or species," she explained, leaning back in her chair.

"Not to be confused with unbound bloodlines, which allow for extraction and transfer through arduous alchemical processes and rare natural treasures. All bloodlines, however, are inherent and immutable powers." Inherent and immutable. The words resonated with Caleb. The World Soul had grafted something indelible into his very being, after all.

"While they are distinct in how they are obtained they are functionally the same," Selara continued.

"The soul is a finite vessel. It can only anchor three unique bloodlines or Soul-Bound Legacies. Once they take root, removing them is virtually impossible without shattering the soul itself." Only three. The hunch ratcheted up into certainty. The emotionless void between worlds. The dispassionate, mechanical voice of the World Soul. THREE SELECTIONS PERMITTED, it had said. It clicked. The limit of three was a fundamental law of the universe. He'd encountered nothing else that even came close to fitting.

[Perfect Memory], [Savant of the Mind], and [Savant of the Body] must be some sort of artificial bloodline that he'd received.

"That restriction is why the Houses and Guilds are so obsessive about lineage," Selara said, unaware of the revelation that had set his mind on fire.

"Choosing which bloodline to invest in or join with is the most critical decision a family or organization can make. It defines the power the bloodline grants and the access it has."

"Access?" Caleb asked, voice sounding distant to his own ears.

"To anima shards," she said, as if it were obvious.

"Magically created knowledge repositories? Surely you know of them even in Deadfall. Some of your nobles use them, after all. Anima shards allow the consumer to instantly learn complex techniques without years of training. However, creating one requires the sacrifice of life force, the rarest commodity to trade in on Veraxus. Typically, only the incredibly wealthy will go through the effort of producing them due to how taxing it is to restore via treasures or alchemy.

Those, and people on their deathbeds, trying to pass on an inheritance for their families or heirs." She tapped the ledger on her desk.

"But here is the catch: you cannot absorb an anima shard unless you share the bloodlines of the creator. A Kaelix cannot use a shard created by a Draha. The soul itself rejects it." Caleb processed the information, his mind racing. If what Selara said was true then he was a clan of one. His "bloodlines" were a combination unique to him, gifted by the World Soul itself.

"So..." he started slowly.

"If you lack a bloodline? If you're a blank slate? Can those anima shards be used by anyone?" Selara shook her head.

"No. They can only be used by others who lack a bloodline. In practice, being un-aspected should make it easy to create and obtain anima shards. The market would be the majority of people across the world. But think about it, Thalorin. Who lacks a bloodline yet possesses the skill and the willingness to spend their own lifespan to create a shard? The answer is essentially no one. It is incredibly difficult and risky, and people do not get to the requisite levels of power and wealth without bloodlines."

She chuckled dryly. And just like that, Caleb was locked out of the shortcut market. He would have to do this the hard way.

"Dragon's Breath is the classic example of a Soul-Bound Legacy," Selara added, circling back to the original thread.

"Or around here, some of the more famous abilities of the Mistblood."

"The Mistblood?" Caleb's interest piqued, pushing the bloodline realization aside for later analysis.

"The Mycari's elite warriors. Or at least they were, before the Dominion destroyed their kingdom. The Mistblood were masters of stealth and assassination, with an inherited power suite cultivated from rare species adaptations here in the Virethane. There are some in Deadfall who insist the bloodlines are alive in them, though..." She shrugged dismissively.

"Most of the true Mistblood died in the battle defending their Matriarch. What remains are probably just diluted offshoots."

"Some of the trainees I could be fighting in the Reaping Tournament claim the lineage. Do you think they'll use them in the matches?"

"If they are not full of hot air? Probably. The Reaping Tournament is when most young fighters reveal their true capabilities for the first time." Selara smiled encouragingly.

"You shall find out soon enough, I would think. I expect you to perform well." Caleb groaned internally. Another complication to worry about in an already challenging situation. He forced himself to refocus on the opportunity before him.

"There is one thing the books didn't mention that I've been struggling with," Caleb said, tone going somber.

"Why do the Mycari hate half-elves so much?" Selara sighed, a shadow falling over her face.

"Because this town, like this entire province, is built on betrayal. I referred to it briefly when speaking about the Mistblood, but the story goes that before the Dominion, this forest and the surrounding land was part of the Mycari kingdom. Their Matriarch, Vireth Almyra, and her Mistblood warriors were the most feared mercenary-assassins on the continent. Emperor Caelverax I, spirits curse his name, hired them, used them to win his wars, and then had them slaughtered when he no longer needed them.

So no one else could turn their knives against him." Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"I've heard it mentioned that Vireth died around here. Do you know where the betrayal happened?"

"Indeed, you have heard correctly. This is where it ended," she said, her voice fierce.

"The Dominion originally named this village 'Vireth's Fall' as a monument to their victory. The surviving Mycari, however, did not take that well. They began assassinating anyone who used the name. Officials, merchants. Legionaries. It didn't matter. After a few dozen bodies the Dominion decided a compromise was in order.

'Deadfall' was the result." No wonder they're all such jerks. I'd be angry too.

"The Mycari that are left hate the Dominion with every fiber of their being; especially around Deadfall, where it happened. And since most humans here are Dominion citizens, they hate humans by association. But half-elves..." She smiled humorlessly.

"They see you as a walking symbol of that betrayal. A constant, visual emblem of their downfall, their bloodline tainted by their conquerors. In their eyes, you're worse than a human." Caleb absorbed her words, better understanding the deep hatred that made Narbok's animosity seem so much clearer. The hostility was generational fury, an enmity that went far beyond bullying.

"Well, I should think that is enough history for one day. Knowledge of the past is useful, but it will not keep you alive in the present. Your observation Skills, on the other hand, will. Time for a practical lesson." She gestured toward a small wooden tray on the corner of her desk. On it lay six sprigs of what appeared to be identical green herbs, each with small, bell-shaped leaves.

"Five of these are pristine-grade waxy bell-leaf. One was picked too late and has a touch of frost-blight. Your job is to find it." Another test, then. Caleb squared his shoulders and stepped forward, his perception encompassing the six small plants. Fortunately, the revelation was near instant. Five of the sprigs felt vibrant, their clean green aura tasting of earthen loam. The sixth, however, carried a different spiritual impression altogether.

Its signature was fainter, the healthy green now stained with a gritty texture and an unpleasant, icy taste. Easy. He caught himself. Too easy. If he pointed it out immediately, she would ask how, a question he wasn't sure he could afford to answer. This was a different risk than the training yard with Captain Hatch, where the danger of standing out was a known quantity. Selara had never even heard the term 'Soul Impartment,' which made his very existence an unknown variable.

Advertising the impossible speed of his learning could invite the kind of attention that dissected anomalies to see what made them tick. He needed to play the competent apprentice, nothing more. At least until he could trust her. Slow down, Foster. Act the part. Caleb picked up one of the healthy sprigs, bringing it close to his eyes. He made a show of inspecting the edges of the leaves, rubbing one between his thumb and forefinger as if testing its texture.

He set it down and repeated the process with three more of the good ones, a careful [Deception]. Finally, he selected the flawed specimen. Through his spiritual sense, he spotted a series of minuscule, dark spots near the stem, a physical imperfection he may not have noticed otherwise.

"This one," he said, holding it up.

"The leaves are slightly more brittle, and there's a discoloration here." Selara leaned forward, her eyes intent. She took the sprig and examined the spots he indicated. After a moment, she responded with a single nod of approval.

"Good eye, apprentice. Better than most." She set the rejected sample aside and immediately picked up two of the unblemished ones. They were, to his senses and his sight, interchangeable.

"Now, for a harder question. Both of these possess matching spiritual properties and natural characteristics. Which one is safer to use in a children's remedy?" Caleb used his [Spiritual Analysis] on both specimens, searching for any meaningful difference in their auras. The examination… revealed nothing. They were indistinguishable down to the finest detail he could discern. Physically, they were exact twins.

"I..." He hesitated, his confidence wavering.

"I've gotta admit, they look the same to me." Selara nodded sagely.

"Correct. They are the same. At least in any way that you could be expected to discern. You will not find this information in any of the books I have loaned you, as waxy bell-leaf grows on the other side of the world. Did your reading touch upon the treatises about the Veraxian Cycle's influence on rare flora?" When Caleb shook his head, she continued.

"A general principle every forager must learn is that the light of our two suns can alter a spirit herb's composition. Aurum's morning rise sometimes enhances curative and restorative aspects. Cinder's second dusk can do the opposite, strengthening a plant's defensive compounds, its poisons and toxins. The twin light of highsun throughout midday seems to have more of a neutral effect." She held up the sprig in her left hand.

"This one was harvested at dawn, when the plant's natural healing compounds were at their peak concentration. Safe for children, gentle on the stomach, minimal side effects." She lifted the other sprig.

"This one was harvested at second dusk, when the plant produces defensive alkaloids to protect against nocturnal herbivores. Still technically safe for adults, but it would give a child stomach cramps for hours." He rocked back on his heels. All of his supernatural Abilities, growing Skills, and careful study were useless without the crucial context of when the plant was harvested.

"And that is the lesson. It follows that an alchemist's most valuable asset is not always a rare ingredient, but a trustworthy forager." She set both examples aside.

"Your capabilities can tell you what a plant is, and its current state. They cannot tell you its history, and sometimes, the history is what matters most. The forager's word is the guarantee this sprig will not harm a child."

"That makes sense. The forager provides the one piece of information no alchemist or merchant can determine on their own."

"You learn quickly. Most new foragers see only the ingredients, not the chain of trust required to use them safely. That alone puts you ahead of the curve." He latched onto her mention of learning.

"About those foreign texts I referenced before… do you have any books that might help with translation? I'd like to understand more of what I was reading." Selara snorted.

"Those volumes were just filler to make the collection look more intimidating to my new, dear apprentice." Her eyes sparkled as she said this.

"Academic texts from dead kingdoms, most of them outdated by centuries. But if you are genuinely interested in expanding your knowledge..." She gestured toward a locked cabinet against the far wall, its dark wood surfaces carved with protective runes that gleamed faintly with contained energy.

"My private library contains practical texts that Aurelian would never dirty his hands with. Field guides written by working foragers, tactical manuals from active delvers, requisition requests from alchemists that actually care about turning a profit…" She grew serious, making sure she had his full attention.

"But access is not free. Prove you are a worthy apprentice. Show me you can apply what you learn effectively in the real world, and I shall consider sharing what I know." The challenge was clear, and despite the pressure, Caleb wanted it. He had come to The Golden Mortar for Aurelian's alchemical genius, hoping to find a way to earn more money and fast-track purging the Contamination that clogged his spiritual pathways. But the master alchemist was a distant peak, shrouded in arrogance and contempt.

Selara, on the other hand, was offering something far more immediate. His goal had been to use her as a path to her brother, but he now knew how shortsighted that was. What she'd laid out represented the entire foundation he lacked. She was providing a priceless, fundamental understanding of how to survive in this environment, how to gather resources, and how to build the reputation needed to warrant not just Aurelian's attention, but beyond. He had sought a solution from the wrong person.

Golden ticket indeed, Felicity. Caleb stood a little straighter and looked her in the eye.

"I won't let you down. Thank you for the opportunity… I'd really like to read as much as I can."

"Do not thank me yet. Proving yourself will not be easy." Selara returned to her ledger, her focus already shifting.

"Now go. I have work to finish." Caleb stepped out into the fading light of highsun, the shop's front door closing with a soft thud behind him. He started walking, but his thoughts remained fixed on Selara's words. Soul-bound Legacies. Bloodlines. The terms rattled around in his head, colliding with fragments of overheard conversations and half-remembered taunts.

Narbok's constant sneering about "pure blood" and "Mistblood heritage" transformed from empty posturing into a warning he had been too ignorant to understand. Caleb pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could feel the alien grafts the World Soul had burned into his soul. He'd assumed they were unique. Special. Now he knew they were just his version of what everyone else in this world took for granted. But mine don't match anyone else's. Which means I'm locked out of the shortcut market, too.

Caleb ground his teeth as he processed the scope of what he didn't know. How many of the tournament participants would have bloodline abilities? What did those abilities do? The Mistblood bloodline meant stealth and assassination, Selara had said, but that could mean anything from enhanced reflexes to literal invisibility. Who knew what Narbok could actually do when the restrictions came off and the real fighting started? Or would he be all talk?

The first sun dipped lower, painting the street in shades of crimson and shadow. Caleb quickened his pace as he turned toward the Hearthsong Inn. Leo and Corinne would be waiting at the stables after dinner. Two kids with basic training and whatever he could teach them in nine days. They're walking into an arena with wolves. His hand curled into a fist. I'd better make sure they're ready.